


Something

by armadil_Lo



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Friendship, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Trauma, we don't have a happy ending yet okay don't blame me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armadil_Lo/pseuds/armadil_Lo
Summary: Ray isn't sure if he believes in fate, but surely something was involved in this chance encounter with Michael.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [percolating](https://archiveofourown.org/users/percolating/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Like Colours Meshing, Incoherently](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466768) by [percolating](https://archiveofourown.org/users/percolating/pseuds/percolating). 



> You're free to read this on its own but it probably won't make sense until you read Like Colours Meshing, Incoherently by percolating first, heh.
> 
> Happy (slightly belated) Birthday, Helen!! Thank you for being a lovely person to talk (and scream about your fics) to <3 I hope you enjoy this!

Ray doesn't like bars.

Ray doesn't like bars as a general rule. They're noisy - filled with people he doesn't know and songs he doesn't like. Buzzing conversations that he has no business in hearing, laughter he can't participate in and sometimes undercut with really unnecessary screaming. And that's not even mentioning alcohol. Despite how many times he's let his friends drag him to one, bars suck and Ray wants to avoid them at all costs.

And yet.

Somehow he's managed to find himself on this night outside the door of one. It's possible he could blame this on boredom; he is actually on top of all of his assignments for once, Ryan is off at some boring UT staff meeting and there is literal garbage on TV tonight. Surely that would drive anyone to go out of their minds and decide to seek alcoholic beverage and socialisation with strangers as some type of salvation, right? Wrong. Ray doesn't drink out of boredom. In fact, Ray doesn't drink at all. He has no reason to come to this bar directly, no motive behind his actions. It would actually be more accurate to say that Ray went wandering on an impulse to leave the flat and somehow his feet just led him here.

On any other night, Ray would keep walking. He would walk straight past the bar without a second thought, straight past every shop - open or closed - on this street. Hood up, make a loop, wind up back at Ryan's place with a clearer mind and wait for his boyfriend to return. But _something_ has already brought him here and he knows that something is going to make him go inside too.

Ray sighs and shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie before he hops up the two little steps and pushes open the door.

He feels like his ears are being assaulted. People all around him are chugging beers and chattering away and he's just so out of place. The lighting is glowing and warm, the music is loud and cheerful and the patrons are laughing obnoxiously with wide grins and rosy cheeks. All of it just makes Ray want to turn right around and go back to the cool, quiet night outside. But Ray is just unsure enough, just awkward enough, that he knows the bartender has seen him and doesn't want to risk looking weird for walking in and then walking straight out. So instead he forces himself to walk forward, legs stiff and shoulders tense.

"Just, uh, water. Please," Ray mumbles as he perches himself on an empty barstool. He only briefly makes eye contact before ducking his head again after catching the bartender's raised eyebrow.

"On the house," she drawls as she hands him a glass moments later. He nods in thank you and cups his drink with both hands.

 _What the fuck are you doing here, idiot?_ he thinks to himself as he lets the noises wash over him. _This is like. Literally the last place you would ever go._ Ray huffs and pulls his phone out from his pocket, all too aware of how he must look sitting here alone at the bar just staring at a cup of water he isn't even thirsty for. He tries to make himself look busy but in reality he just lets his thumb aimlessly swipe back and forth across his apps without ever opening one. 

_"...totally made out with her at the party last week..."_

_"...he going? Oh that's good to hear, I'm glad that everything..."_

_"...another round of that last drink, thanks..."_

_"...moving away, actually. Yeah, the internship is in..."_

_"...asshole, s'been a year t'day and I'm gonna get fffucking_ drunk _!"_

Ray jerks his head up and almost drops his phone in the glass of water. He'd recognise that voice anywhere. Not shy of eye contact anymore, he does a frenzied scan of the people nearby him until his sight zeroes in on one figure in particular.

And there he fucking is. Six barstools down, large as life, waving his arms around animatedly like he doesn't have a fucking care in the world. 

Michael Jones.

Ray hasn't seen Michael in, shit, a few months maybe? It's certainly been a lot longer since the last time they _spoke _. He knows he's seen the familiar mop of curly auburn hair quickly retreating from him on multiple occasions around campus, but come to think of it even those moments have been rare lately. Despite everything, it's still Michael though. The same boyish features, the same heavy scowl (and the same way it's a little lopsided, a little more insincere, due to the influence of alcohol). Ray can only watch in surprise as the same guy he was sharing a dorm with, an apartment with briefly, argues with the person beside him in his typical fashion.__

But then Ray registers what is being said.

"Really, Michael, I think you should quit it for the night."

"It's still early!"

"Yeah and you're already halfway to passing out. Let's go get a burger somewhere, yeah?"

"M'not done _here_ yet! Fuck off and lemme drink."

Ray frowns as he watches the exchange. He swears Michael never used to be that into alcohol before. He'd drink a little bit, sure, just enough to get the buzz. But never like this.

And it's at this point, of course, that the bartender steps in.

"Sorry, but I think your friend is right. I'm cutting you off for tonight," she states, watching him calmly as he takes a moment to register that. Michael's eyes bulge and his jaw drops. He looks about to whine or complain or yell for a moment, but the guy he's with quickly cuts in.

"Michael, let's just get you home, yeah?"

Ray gets off his barstool and his feet carry him toward the two of them before his brain even registers what he's doing. He comes up behind them on autopilot and somehow manages to spit out the words so quickly it sounds as if they're tripping over one another.

"I've got it from here."

Michael and his friend both turn to look at him at the same time and Ray swallows. He thinks he remembers seeing Michael's drinking buddy around now that he thinks about it. A short, stocky guy - one of Barbara's friends maybe. Jerry? Jeremiah? _Jeremy_. The recognition clearly doesn't go both ways, regardless. He stares at Ray like he must be out of his mind. To be fair, he isn't really wrong.

Michael, on the other hand, takes a moment to squint and scrutinise Ray before his whole face lights up. "Raybles!" he exclaims, drawing out the word with an alcohol-heavy tongue. The nickname makes something twinge in Ray's chest - and it makes Jeremy do a double take. He might not know the face, but he sure as hell knows the name. Ray assumes he's come up in conversation with Drunk Michael before if it got that kind of reaction out of the boy.

Ray jumps when Michael flings his arms around him and pulls him into a tight hug. It lasts for maybe a second, and it's sloppy and Michael reeks of liquor, but it almost brings tears to Ray's eyes. He blinks rapidly, watching Michael in shock as he pulls away, beaming. Ray opens his mouth to speak - to say anything really. Hi, hello, how are you, sup. The words get stuck in his throat.

Jeremy clears his throat. "Uh, hey. You sure you got this?" He sounds doubtful that Ray is up to the task, but his expression is encouraging. For a split second, Ray thinks about retreating his offer. But god damn it he's weak and he hasn't spoken to his once-best friend in nearly a year and he fucking _missed_ him.

Ray nods. "Yeah. I'm sure. I'll get him home safe."

He knows now that that will be all it is. That Ray will help Michael home and then return home himself. That Michael will go back to resolutely avoiding him come tomorrow, if he even remembers at all. That they will part ways again shortly. But Ray doesn't know when he'll get an opportunity to speak with Michael again after tonight - and he knows Michael not being sober isn't exactly the favourable option at any rate. 

Something brought him to the bar tonight. Ray isn't sure if he believes in fate, but surely _something_ was involved in this chance encounter with Michael. Why else would he find himself wandering streets, drawn to this particular place on this particular night? It couldn't just be coincidence. He has a feeling that Michael _needs_ him tonight.

So fuck it. Ray will take what he can get.

* * *

After an awkward taxi ride home with Ray deciphering Michael's slurred directions to an unfamiliar address, the two of them clamber up the stairs of an apartment building. Michael is leaning heavily on Ray, who is somehow managing to hold the both of them upright. Ray curses under his breath about the conveniently broken elevator and Michael finally jerks them in the direction of the hallway instead of further up the stairs, thank goodness. It takes the two of them about five minutes longer than it should have to locate Michael's door and then two of them are fumbling with the keys to open it at the same time - Ray trying to grab them from a stubborn Michael who keeps insisting he can unlock his own door but clearly can't do anything of the sort.

And then the two of them stumble into the apartment and Ray shrugs Michael's arm off from around his shoulder, letting him bolt straight for the bathroom. Ray closes the front door behind them and hears Michael retch in the other room. 

Ray takes a moment to survey the space quickly. Michael's apartment is kind of fucking tiny. There's an armchair and a small TV set up, an open kitchen littered with take out containers, a screen divider between the main area and what looks to be just a mattress on the floor. At least the toilet has its own room behind a door. Ray sits himself down on the chair and waits.

The retching stops eventually and he hears the toilet flush. Ray doesn't expect Michael to emerge immediately, but after ten minutes of silence he walks over and knocks on the bathroom door. "Michael?" he calls. He frowns and presses his ear against the wood but still hears nothing. He knocks again and, after a moment, tries the handle. It's not locked, so Ray peeks in.

Michael is still conscious. He's sitting on the floor by the toilet, leaning against a cabinet. He's a bit of a mess, but his eyes are open and he's just staring at the ceiling. He looks oddly pensive.

"Michael?" Ray takes a step into the bathroom. Michael doesn't respond, doesn't even move, so Ray opens his mouth to speak again. Michael beats him to it.

"It's been a year."

Ray freezes. He doesn't know what Michael means, but something in his tone of voice makes Ray's heart start pounding in his ears. He spoke with a tone that was heavy with pain. With sadness, with longing. With grief. Every word in the sentence weighted, sending stones falling to the pit of Ray's stomach. He racks his brain - _a year since what?_

Michael looks over at Ray's silence. His eyes are glistening. "It's been a _year,_ Ray," he repeats. He speaks with so much emphasis, so much meaning behind the words, as if he expects Ray to know what he's talking about.

And then it clicks.

"Michael..." Ray breathes, all wind completely knocked out of him at the realisation. _Fuck,_ he's such an idiot.

A year since the day Ray got the call from Geoff. A year since he and Ryan raced to the hospital as fast as they could. A year since they heard the news, since Ray found himself near shaking apart in his boyfriend's arms, a vice tightening around his heart in fear.

It's been a year since the day of the accident. Since sirens, since shrapnel, since broken screaming and sobbing. Since the last day Michael spent with a Gavin who knew who he was. Who he loved and who loved him in return.

Ray knows the date. He swore he'd never let himself forget it. And yet he didn't even recognise it once it finally came around.

It makes sense, now. The drinking. Michael was doing it to forget. To forget the day ever existed, to forget the memories that were no doubt hovering at the fringes of his every thought. Ray wants to comfort him - the shivering figure on the bathroom floor, barely holding himself together. He wants to bend down beside him and pull him into his arms like he did when Michael tumbled apart before him in the hospital room all that time ago. He wants to say _something_ to him. Something like _those memories, Michael. They still exist._ Something like _Gavin might not remember them, but_ you _do._ Like _you shouldn't let that make you want to forget them too. Those memories are special -_ Gavin _was special to you._

Instead, Ray holds out a hand. He can't bring himself to say the words. 

A moment passes. Michael blinks a few times and lets out a shaking breath. Then he reaches up and grasps Ray's hand and lets the other man pull him to his feet.

Ray guides Michael to his mattress in silence and watches the other man flop face-first into his pillow. He steps over into the kitchen and quietly goes on the hunt for painkillers. He locates them on top of the fridge and then grabs a glass from the dish-rack, rinsing it a few times before filling it with water. When he walks back over to Michael, he's still lying fully-clothed on his stomach, but his head is turned to one side. His eyes are closed and Ray assumes he's passed out. He gently places the glass of water and painkillers behind Michael's glasses on the makeshift cardboard box nightstand, and then he turns to leave.

A hand catches his ankle before he takes half a step.

Glancing down, he sees Michael's brown eyes looking back up at him. He stares for a moment, probably seeing two or three of him. Ray waits patiently as Michael opens and closes his mouth a few times, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he speaks.

"I'm sorry, Ray."

There's something in the way he says it that's a little too close to sadness. To sincerity. It makes Ray's chest ache. He knows this is why Michael left in the first place - he never wanted Ray to see him this broken. He was hurting - he's still hurting. A year later. 

It wasn't Michael's choice to break the silence between the two of them tonight. It may never be Michael's choice. Ray stepped in where a Michael on any other day would have told him to fuck right off. He spotted Michael in a weak moment, on a day where he was feeling vulnerable and was incredibly drunk. 

Michael chose to be isolated. Michael in the morning will still choose to be isolated. 

And Ray needs to respect that choice, as much as it hurts the both of them. Michael is still grieving. He should have nothing to apologise for.

Ray's phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking the silence. Michael takes his hand back from Ray's ankle and Ray takes the opportunity to be distracted.

**From: Ryan  
hey, where are you? x**

Ray bites his lip and checks the time at the top of the screen. It's getting late, no wonder Ryan is back from his meeting. Ray glances back over his shoulder at Michael, torn. But the other man is definitely asleep now - eyes shut, mouth slack, breathing deeply. 

"No, Michael," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

* * *

**To: Ryan  
Be home soon, sorry x**

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't edited yet, oops. Please excuse any mistakes haha.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr! @armadil-lauren :)


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